


Let's Start From Scratch

by incorrectbatfam



Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Bakery, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25372462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam
Summary: The plan was simple: get married, retire from the superhero life, open a cupcake shop, and love each other forever and ever.
Relationships: Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Let's Start From Scratch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ivyxwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyxwrites/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Here's The Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/651541) by Fernanda Frick. 



> This doesn’t affect the story in any way, but I’ll have y’all know I f*cked up my Spotify algorithm listening to the Ratatouille theme on repeat while writing this.

Once at the pinnacle of an elegant tiered cake, the porcelain figurines now basked in the daylight atop a chestnut cabinet. The morning sun cast an almost ethereal glow on the two custom-sculpted grooms. 

The first was colored a brilliant cobalt, with sharp etchings to form armor plates and an Egyptian beetle between his shoulder blades. The exception to the monochrome trend was his face—painted an amber bronze—and his hair— stuck up in jet black spikes. He gazed at the other, dark chocolate eyes filled with nothing but undying love. 

His partner returned the sentiment with equal intensity, reflecting in the glint of his jade irises. Auburn locks cascaded past his ears and brushed his shoulders. The shade matched the freckles surrounding his ivory smile. A scarlet suit with a gold lightning bolt covered his body, with boots worn down as if he ran across the world to meet his kindred spirit. 

Though they were stationary, they stood far from still. Thin lines flowed through every crease and contact point. Together, they danced as if nobody was watching. The blue one placed a hand on the red one’s waist and the red one stepped closer, such that they were chest-to-chest with not a hair between. The red one had his hand on the blue’s shoulder. Their other hands were linked, fingers delicately interlaced. Silver bands wrapped around each one’s ring finger—a promise to be faithful and true, ‘til death do them part. 

Something as unique as that could only be sculpted by the finest artists, with untold amounts of time and dedication, requiring patience even when their plans went awry. And because of that, it wasn’t one in a million or even one in a billion. It was simply _one_.

Jaime adjusted the ceramic wedding topper so that it overlooked the modest kitchen. 

“ _Perfecto_.”

He turned to the dozen strawberry cupcakes cooling on a wire rack, and asked over his shoulder, “Khaji Da, are they ready to be frosted?”

The scarab on his back chirped.

**[Affirmative.]**

With that, the thirty-year-old grabbed a piping bag and got to work, topping each cupcake with a vanilla swirl. He hummed as he worked—an old Spanish baking song his mother used to sing. Birds chirped outside the open window, as if joining him like a gospel choir. The first breezes of spring blew in, ruffling his hair. The clock on the wall told him it was still early and that he had plenty of time before his husband would wake up.

A giggle bubbled through him, like a schoolboy who was told that his crush liked him back.

“Can you believe it, Khaji? After all this time, we’re finally husbands. He’s mine and I’m his and it’s official!”

The scarab gave an apathetic hum as Jaime danced around the kitchen.

**[It has been more than five weeks, Jaime Allen-Reyes. I do not see how you are still failing to process this development.]**

Jaime scoffed. “Bug off. I’m happy, okay? Beyond happy, actually. More like ecstatic! These have been the best five weeks of my life, and it’s only gonna get better.”

**[My sensors indicate that the Bart Allen-Reyes is awake. He will be downstairs in approximately nine seconds.]**

“Nine seconds?” the man asked, putting the finished cupcakes on a plate. “Guess it’s a lazy Sunday, huh?”

As soon as the last cupcake touched the platter, a gust of wind tore through the kitchen and circled the table. The wind died down, revealing a young man wearing nothing but gray sweatpants and fuzzy bunny slippers, with hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.

His eyes lit up. “Dessert for breakfast? Babe, you shouldn’t have!”

“Only for you, _mi marido_ ,” Jaime replied, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s waist and pressing their lips together.

Bart cupped his hands around Jaime’s face and returned the kiss.

“I’m still not sure what that means,” he said. “You’ve been saying that ever since we got married but I can’t figure it out.”

Jaime laughed. “ _¿Eres lindo, lo sabes?_ ”

“Again, no clue what that means,” Bart chuckled. “You’re cute, you know that?”

They enjoyed their breakfast in a comfortable silence, Bart’s legs draped over Jaime’s as they squeezed into one chair despite the empty ones around the table. In the past, their phones would be ringing with a crucial superhero task to undertake by this time. Then they’d have to suit up and find the nearest zeta tubes. But with their request for retirement approved, they no longer had to worry about the villain of the week.

That meant they could focus on their new mission.

After scrubbing the dishes and sweeping up the crumbs, Bart pulled out a three-inch binder, decorated with foam letters and patterned scrapbook tape, from a drawer and slapped it on the center island.

“Jaime,” he deadpanned. “What we have before us is our most critical operation yet. It’s gonna be rough; it’s gonna be tough. No matter what, we gotta stick with each other. Do you accept this mission?”

There was a moment of silence before both men broke down.

“ _Lo siento_ , that was just too funny,” Jaime said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Okay, where were we?”

Bart flipped to the first page, to a statement scrawled in his messy handwriting.

“Our mission,” he read, “is to open the most crash-tastic cupcake shop, where people will come from all over for a taste they’ll never forget. And—this is the most important part, so pay attention—we will do it together and we’ll love each other forever and ever.”

“I accept this mission,” Jaime said, taking Bart’s hand. “What’s our first step?”

“First,” Bart said, “We gotta find a storefront. My grandpa showed me a few places, but something tells me that he beat up some Rogues inside so I’m not sure if we should go with those.”

Jaime grabbed a couple of barstools from the other side and placed them by the binder.

“I know a place,” he said. “Only it’s, like, crazy expensive ‘cause it’s in a good location.”

From his phone, Jaime pulled up a picture of a for-sale building in the heart of the town’s Main Street. Bart cringed at the price.

“Hey, _cariño, no te preocupes_ ,” Jaime said. “I saw this coming. You know, with the economy being in literal shambles. Which is why I came up with a Plan B.”

He leaned over and turned the page to one with a different, but equally terrible, penmanship.

“Since we can’t get a physical location right away, our next plan would be to save up for it by taking online orders and pairing with delivery companies,” Jaime explained. “We can use social media to garner attention, order our supplies from wholesalers, and set up a website where people place their orders. That way, we also can do custom ones, like for parties. What do you think?”

“That sounds so crash!” Bart exclaimed, throwing his arms around his husband. “This is totally gonna work!”

“The most important part remains the same,” said Jaime. “We love each other. Forever.”

“And ever,” Bart added.

“And ever,” Jaime amended.

As the flowers bloomed, so did their love, taking shape in flour-covered counters and icing swirls. With an endorsement from a certain Bat-friend, their follower count reached three thousand by the end of the first month, and quadrupled by the second. Pre-orders became the norm, as did selling out a week’s worth by nine in the morning on Monday. 

Theoretically, with Bart’s powers and Jaime’s scarab, they could churn out hundreds—thousands, even—of cupcakes like factory machines, but there was something about taking their time that made it extra special. There was something in the way they moved in sync and danced to the radio in their socks as if no one was watching that made the end result all the more worth it. If anyone asked what their secret ingredient was, they responded earnestly: love.

Their days were spent building their dream together, one cake at a time. Today was no different. Bart dipped a plastic spoon into a bowl.

“Babe, c’mere,” he said. “Tell me how this peanut butter frosting tastes.”

Jaime leaned forward and took some off the spoon. He smacked his lips, deep in thought.

“Hm… why don’t you see for yourself?” 

He pressed his lips to Bart’s. The two smiled into the kiss, drinking in the sugary flavor. Bart’s arms wrapped around Jaime’s neck, the spoon hanging from his fingers. Jaime’s fingers hooked on Bart’s belt loop as he drew in closer.

 _Ding-dong_.

They jumped apart and Jaime said, “Must be the Uber Eats guy. Is the order ready?”

“In the fridge. Bottom shelf.” 

Every evening, after they swept the tile and wiped the counters and loaded the dishwasher, they played rock-paper-scissors over who had to carry the other to bed. Some nights, they crawled under the soft blankets, dead tired from an exhausting day, and nestled in each other’s warmth. Some nights, they toppled onto the mattress in passionate heat; in a fervent frenzy of traveling hands as they hastened to throw their clothes onto the floor. And some nights, they hid under the covers and exchanged stories and laughed at bad jokes (most of which were Bart’s) as if they were childhood best friends with the privilege of having a sleepover every night, with the bonus of affectionate pet names added to the mix.

When the last light disappeared over the horizon and their bedroom was nothing but slate-colored shapes, they snuggled closer. It was never clear who’d start it, but one goodnight peck would turn to two, and two turned to many as each one fought for the last word, the last stolen kiss. Before they fell asleep, they always made sure to say, _“I love you forever and ever.”_

Then the sun would rise and the morning birds would sing and they would begin again.

Bart and Jaime always wore their wedding bands, with the exception of when they were baking. A close call involving an electric beater and molten hot fudge led them to decide that wearing jewelry in the kitchen may not have been the safest move. 

Bart slid the ring off his finger and set it down beside a cup full of pens. Jaime did the same, placing his next to their order slips for the day.

“What’ve we got today?” Bart asked.

Jaime peeked at the orders. “Two dozen black velvets for a grad party, a batch of fudge for a community fundraiser, and fifty _tres leches_ cupcakes for someone’s _quinceñera_.”

Bart zipped around the kitchen, gathering all the ingredients.

“Crash! I’ll start mixing, you make the decorations.”

Jaime tuned in the radio to their favorite station. He twirled Bart under his arm before pulling the younger man in for a kiss.

“Excellent plan, _cariño_.”

When Bart went to preheat the oven, the knob made its usual _click_ sound but where the green digital numbers were supposed to be, there was nothing.

“Weird,” he muttered, turning it again.

Again, there was nothing. Bart bent down and opened the oven. It was as cold as when they finished the night before.

“Maybe something came loose.” He began to move the appliance.

“Everything okay, _amor_?” Jaime asked.

“I think so,” Bart answered. “Just help me move this, I think I need to reconnect something in the back.”

They rotated the oven and Bart crouched to get a better look.

Jaime scratched the back of his head. “Well?” 

“Everything’s in place. It looks fine on the surface,” he said. “Maybe it’s internal. Jaime, can you call a repair guy?”

“On it,” Jaime said, pulling out his phone.

Bart stood up and grabbed the batter bowl and the lined trays. “I can run to my grandad’s and do everything there in the meantime.”

“Sounds good. You can bring it back here for decorating and hopefully, the repair guy will be done by then.”

“Crash.”

He gave Jaime a quick goodbye kiss and zoomed out.

Later that afternoon, Bart returned with a batch of baked but modest-looking cupcakes. Jaime was in the kitchen, talking to a gray-haired repairman who was inspecting the oven. Bart set the cakes on the kitchen table and walked over, putting an arm around Jaime’s shoulder.

“Status update?”

Jaime shrugged and gestured to the repairman, who turned and sighed. “Whelp, it’s beyond anythin’ I can fix. Reckon y’all need to get yourself a new one.”

“Are you sure?” Bart asked.

The guy nodded. “I been doin’ this for forty years so I know when they gotta be replaced. And that’s,” he gestured with his screwdriver, “in desperate need of one.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jaime said. “We’ll get on that right away.”

Once the man left, Bart asked, plain and simple, “How far is that gonna put us back?”

Jaime hesitated. “I can check our savings, but chances are we won’t have enough.”

Bart cursed. “What about the business? I can’t keep using my grandparents’ oven; it’s too small and too slow.”

Jaime laced his fingers with Bart’s.

“We can inform our followers and go on a short hiatus,” the older man suggested. “Press pause and find another way to get the money.”

Bart tilted his head. “Are you saying we should find new jobs?”

“Temporarily,” replied Jaime. “Once we have enough, we can quit and pick up from where we left off.”

Bart pursed his lips. “You sure it’ll work?”

Jaime placed a gentle hand on Bart’s face, tracing his thumb over the sun-kissed freckles before moving to tuck a ginger strand behind his ear.

“Our mission’s still the same,” Jaime said. “We love each other. Forever and ever.”

The following Monday, they were both dressed up when they met in the kitchen—Jaime in a pressed white shirt and slacks, Bart in his old scarlet-and-gold spandex.

“Feels weird wearing this again,” the speedster said as he handed his husband a steaming hot mug of coffee, “but gotta get that coin somehow.”

“Hey, it’s working for you,” Jaime commented as he tossed two slices of bread into the toaster and took the mug. “Not sure if I told you before, but the view is pretty great.”

Bart playfully whacked his husband with a dishtowel. “Perv.”

Jaime laughed. “I still think it’s pretty cool that the Justice League is paying you to be a hero now.”

“I guess you can say I’m getting paid com- _mission_.” Bart winked as the older man rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s minor stuff. We’re still not getting paid to save the world. But when the world doesn’t need saving…” He took a sip of his coffee. “You get the gist. Since I’m a speedster, I’m pretty sure I’ll just end up being a glorified delivery guy. You sure you don’t wanna join?” he half-joked.

“One of us ought to stay un-injured,” Jaime replied, “otherwise we can’t bake together. Being a secretary isn’t the most exciting thing but at least you don’t have to worry about me being lasered in half.” 

“True. And you don’t have to worry about me dying of boredom. It’s a win-win.”

Jaime placed a kiss on Bart’s cheek. “Be careful, _amor_. And have a good day.”

Bart returned with a peck on the lips. “You too. Love you.”

“ _También te amo._ ”

“Forever and ever!” Bart called, halfway out the door.

Jaime smiled. “Forever and ever.”

The humid, stuffy summer plodded into a cold fall and even colder winter. The birds migrated South. Though the sky was cloudless and the sun was visible, its warmth was negligible at best. Snow stuck to the side of the house in thick, wall-like drifts. Product prices inflated while wages remained stagnant. Such was life, and Bart and Jaime had no choice but to roll with the punches. Every day was the same: wake up, wish each other good luck at work, and not see each other until dusk again.

Jaime’s hours were occupied by tedious busywork. He entered the first-floor lobby of a towering corporate skyscraper having already missed seven phone calls and someone’s latte order. By nine o’clock, he’d have taken the elevator up and down thrice, schedules at least ten appointments, and filed through so many documents that the mere touch of paper made him sick to his stomach. Then he’d step into a beige-painted break room for a solitary lunch break before returning to more of the same.

Meanwhile, Bart became the main runner for the Justice League. That wasn’t to say he was the first speedster called to important missions, but rather the first speedster they called when a package needed to be transported. His days were filled up dodging bullets across enemy territory with top-secret information or a sensitive piece of equipment tucked under his arm. He’d make it back to headquarters for a fast bathroom and snack break before he was off again. And on the rare occasion he did get a real mission, he was still stuck doing the dirty work, as evidenced by the stains and tears on his uniform when he returned home. 

They grew tired; too tired to do anything together besides crawl in bed. Some days, even that didn’t happen, when one or both of them were putting in overtime. Their cupcake trays would go weeks without seeing the light of day. They stopped adding food coloring and extra sugar to their grocery list. 

The new oven was an early Christmas gift to themselves. They pushed it into the space where the old one used to be. The appliance was sleek and silver with state of the art features and a lifetime warranty. It had everything, almost as if it was sent down from the heavens above.

“Hm…”

Bart glanced at it before glancing around the weathered-down kitchen. The oven protruded from its slot, taking up more space than the previous one. When opened, there was hardly three inches between the door and the center island. On top of that, the colors clashed with the rest of the kitchen. It looked like a UFO crash-landed in the middle of the suburbs.

Jaime asked, “Everything okay, _mi amor_?”

Bart inspected the appliance.

“It’s nice,” he said, “but it looks awkward compared to everything else, don’t you think?”

Jaime hummed. “I see what you mean. And this place was kinda small to begin with.”

“You think we should expand?” Bart asked.

Jaime shrugged. “It makes sense. I’m up for a promotion next month if that helps.”

“Alright. We’re gonna keep these jobs for just a little longer ‘till we can redo the kitchen. Then we can get back on track.”

Jaime leaned in and placed a peck on Bart’s lips.

“We’ll get there. _Te amo_.”

Bart replied, “I love you too. Forever.”

And so they pressed on, repeating to themselves that it was all going to be worth it. That was what Jaime told himself as he made the umpteenth cup of coffee that he wasn’t allowed to drink. That was what Bart told himself as he phased through the umpteenth homing missile. Sure, they had more work and less time together right now, but it was only temporary.

On Valentine’s Day, they were blessed with the fortune of coming home earlier than usual—the sun was only midway on the horizon instead of fully gone. Jaime cooked dinner in the half-remodeled kitchen and Bart surprised him with a hug from behind and the biggest bouquet of ruby red roses.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” Bart sang. “First one as husbands.”

Jaime giggled. “Happy Valentine’s Day, _mi rayito de sol_.”

Baking wasn’t on the agenda, but they drifted towards it after finishing their meal, as if it was their default setting. Bart mixed and Jaime decorated. Just like before.

Except it wasn’t. Not with Jaime lacking the proper ingredients for a garnish, or Bart working at a snail’s pace even by regular human standards. The latter’s eyes drooped and when he stood, he favored his right leg over the left, and he took care to avoid letting his shirt ride up whenever he stretched. An eggshell-colored bandage peeked out from inside his sock, but neither he nor Jaime said a word about it. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out when Jaime squeezed his shoulder.

He asked, “You alright, _cariño_?”

“Yeah.” Bart stifled a yawn. “Crash.”

The speedster stumbled forward and would’ve hit the ground if it wasn’t for his husband’s strong embrace. Jaime’s eyebrows knitted.

“Khaji says you haven’t slept in days,” he said, “and that you have a sprained ankle, broken shoulder, and bruised ribs.”

“I’m fine,” Bart replied, though Jaime was anything but convinced.

Jaime scooped Bart up. Too exhausted to protest, Bart nuzzled his face in Jaime’s neck as the two made their way upstairs.

“M’sorry,” Bart mumbled.

“It’s okay, _amor_.” Jaime draped the blanket over and turned out the lights. “Next time.”

Bart was already out cold by the time Jaime pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered, “ _Te amo_.”

Spring returned, and financially, things were starting to look up for the couple. True to his word, Jaime received the promotion at work and the raise was enough to finish the final touches on the kitchen. 

The expanded kitchen jutted out of the house so they decided to re-do the living room and hallways to fit.

Then Bart got a bonus for a particularly successful mission.

So they renovated the upstairs to match the first floor.

The baking equipment laid there, home to the dust bunnies in the cupboard. With a house so spacious and so full of new things, the old trays and mixing bowls went forgotten.

Spring came around again, but the window panes were so thick that neither of them could hear the birds chirping outside. Not that they would’ve heard it anyway. They were so wrapped up in their busy schedules that it was a miracle they remembered to kiss each other goodbye in the mornings.

They spent precisely eight minutes and forty-six seconds of their third anniversary together—five minutes in the morning, the rest almost at midnight when Bart came back from an operation in Khandaq. 

He shivered as he stepped onto the cold laundry room tile and stripped off his dirt-caked uniform. Despite every muscle in his body screaming to take it slow, Bart raced up the stairs and flopped onto the bed, next to where Jaime was reading a book by the lamplight. 

“Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late,” Bart said. “Got caught up in this mess with Black Adam and then Batman took _for-e-ver_ to debrief.”

“It’s fine.” Jaime closed the book and shifted to face Bart. “I was waiting for you. There’s… something I want to talk about.”

Their bed was bigger and they had to swim through a sea of blankets just to hold each other’s hand. Cold silk sheets outlined their bodies like the ripples formed by skipping stones. The room was dark, as signaling an impending storm despite the clear skies outside, with the yellow bedside lamp acting as the sole beacon. 

Jaime said, “I think we should quit our jobs.”

Bart blinked. “Why?”

Jaime gestured at everything—the walls, the ceiling with its crystal lights. “We have everything we need. We can quit right now and go back to our old plan with the shop.”

Bart hesitated. “I dunno. We’re stable now, and I know this wasn’t our original plan but plans are allowed to change, right?”

“I guess…”

“I love you,” Bart said.

Jaime sighed and turned out the lights.

It was Bart who woke up first the next morning and gathered a table full of flour, milk, sugar, and other ingredients. Jaime trudged in a few moments later, still half-asleep. He walked past the gathering at first, before backtracking and doing a double-take.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Bart scratched the back of his neck. “I was thinking about what you said, and we might not be doing the business anymore, but that doesn’t mean we have to stop baking altogether. And since it’s a weekend, I figured we could do that. I swear I won’t fall asleep this time.”

Jaime quirked a smile.

“Sounds like a plan, _cariño_.”

However, their skills must have fallen out of use somewhere along the way because the entire morning they were fumbling around, bumping into appliances and each other. Eggshells fell into the batter and flour spilled all over their clothes, and not in the endearing food fight way. Despite the ample space, they struggled to squeeze around each other as they worked. Elbows knocked onto milk bottles and toes were stubbed against the trash can. The couple didn’t dance and work in sync, but rather they found themselves bickering over everything—down to the smallest teaspoon.

With a countertop sticky with a mysterious sugar sludge, Bart shoved the bowl away and threw his hands up in surrender.

“I give up!”

Jaime ran his flour-coated fingers through his hair as a weary sigh left his lips. “Me too.”

Bart buried his head in his hands. “Why did I think this was a good idea?”

“It’s one bad day, _amor_ , not the end of the world,” said Jaime. “We just gotta try harder.”

Bart gathered the unused dishes in his arms, mumbling, “That wasn’t what I meant.”

He put the dishes away and slammed the pantry door. 

The porcelain lovers, already standing close to the edge, trembled as if there was an earthquake. The two men held their breaths as it teetered on the precipice. Gravity won and the figurine plummeted towards the floor as if in slow motion. All they could do was watch as it collided with rock bottom. It exploded in a hundred shards, scattering in a hundred directions. The pieces were everywhere and yet they seemed unsalvageable. 

Jaime dove forward, scrambling as he picked out two hands that fit together, pleading, “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. We can fix it.”

Bart, who was already at the door, replied, “Maybe it’s best we don’t.”

They fell asleep on opposite ends that night.

Jaime sat on the edge of the bed. His fists clenched around the sheets. Though he tried to hold it in, a sniffle echoed through the cold, cavernous room. The blinds were drawn, giving the illusion of nighttime in the middle of the day. A laptop rested on the nightstand. Its light was blinding, but didn’t hold a candle’s flame to Bart’s smile. Next to it, a suitcase laid open but empty, gaping at him like a hungry pit monster.

Jaime clicked “print ticket”. A single choked sob escaped his lips as he heard the printer down the hall. 

He slipped the wedding band off his finger and whimpered, “ _¿Por qué?_ ”

**[Jaime Allen-Reyes–]**

“Don’t.”

**[…Jaime Reyes, my sensors detect that your serotonin and dopamine levels are low. Suggested course of action: eliminate the cause.]**

Jaime dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. “It’s not that easy, Khaji.”

**[Tactical destruction is not a complex concept.]**

“That’s the problem!” he shouted. “I don’t want to destroy anything. I love him and I want to fix this but there’s nothing left and…”

He buried his face in a pillow—Bart’s pillow. The orange-and-desert sand scent enveloped him, suffocated him, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

**[Statistically, the majority of unions end within the first five years.]**

“Don’t remind me.”

“Please pick up. Please pick up,” he begged.

It was odd, how the world moved when Bart seemed to be at a screeching standstill. Sat on the cracked curb that his tax dollars were supposed to pay to fix, he watched as cars zoomed by and pedestrians made their break between unmarked gaps. Nearby, a dozen or so protestors picketed for an obscure cause. They tried to get him to sign their petition, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The numbness was all-encompassing.

The line clicked, and a voice spoke.

“Barry Allen speaking.”

“Grandpa, I need advice,” said Bart.

From the other end, he could hear a chair squeaking. “What’s up, kiddo?”

He let his hair down from its ponytail and combed his fingers through it. “How can you tell if something—say, a relationship—is meant to work out or not?”

“Well,” Barry replied, “that’s not something I can definitively tell you. All I can say is: don’t let go as long as you have something to hold on to.”

But did he? Bart pursed his lips.

“Thanks, Gramps.”

“Don’t call me that,” Barry joked.

Bart gave a half-hearted chuckle and ended the call before pushing himself up and pulling the ring off his finger. 

Above him, the courthouse loomed.

Tears cascaded freely down his face as Jaime folded the final shirt, tucking it with the rest of the luggage. He zipped the suitcase and threw on his favorite the jacket—the one Bart often stole; the one that also smelled like him. Jaime paused and took a long whiff. Another round of sobs erupted upon the realization it may be his last.

**[Jaime Reyes, you must leave presently if you wish to make your check-in time.]**

He sighed and snatched the Amtrak ticket from the nightstand.

“This doesn’t feel right,” said Jaime.

The afternoon light peeked through the blinds—a soft, golden glow, as if the morning had only just arrived.

**[You must make a decision.]**

The piece of paper was heavy in one hand. By comparison, the ring in his other palm was infinitely lighter. Chocolate eyes flicked between the two.

**[Jaime Allen-Reyes, your window of opportunity is closing.]**

His right hand crumpled the ticket and chucked it in the trash. 

“No. I won’t allow it.”

His left hand closed around the ring.

Bart hated courthouses; they bored him to death.

There was a long line when he and Jaime got married because it was during the peak wedding season. The halls swarmed with couples—some still in suits and white gowns—waiting to sign their happy-ever-after contract. Bart drummed his hands on his lap the whole time, earning stares from bystanders. He only stopped when Jaime laced their fingers together.

Now he waited in a different part of the building. This part was nowhere near as joyous as the marriage offices. Next to him were two children whose parents were in the room across from them. Down the hall, he heard a man and woman screaming at each other as a frazzled-sounding attorney tried to act as a peacemaker. Bitterness and tension hung in the air like the smog in Los Angeles.

A middle-aged woman emerged from one of the doors. “Bartholomew Allen-Reyes?”

He stood up. “That’s me.”

She led him into an office so small that it seemed like the walls were closing in. 

Placing a stack of papers in front of him, she said, “Just sign here and you’re all set.”

Taking the pen from the cup felt like lifting a log. And compared to that, the wedding band was light as a feather. Emerald eyes flicked between the two.

The woman tapped her fingernails. “Well?”

His left hand slammed the pen on the desk.

“Apologies for taking your time.”

His right hand closed around the ring.

The wind rushed past their faces as they raced opposite ends of the street. For the first time in his life, Jaime disregarded all rules as he darted across the busy intersection, dodging speeding cars and angry bikers. For the first time in his life, Bart prayed that he was fast enough.

They rounded their respective corners and almost slammed into each other as they babbled at a thousand miles an hour.

“I’m sorry for everything I did and for putting money first–”

“ _Lo siento por no esforzarnos más por salvar nuestro matrimonio–_ ”

“–and I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right–”

“ _–y quiero trabajar contigo para arreglarlo–_ ”

“–because I love you more than anything in the world,” they finished at the same time.

The floodgates burst open and they threw themselves into each other’s arms. Bart buried his face in Jaime’s neck and Jaime held on tighter than ever before as they went back and forth repeating _“I’m sorry”_ ’s and _“I love you”_ ’s. 

They pulled away only to come together again as their lips crashed together, bodies fitting together like two parts of a harmony. 

Bart swiped Jaime’s warm tears away with his thumb. “Can we try again? Please?”

A watery smile formed on the older man’s face. “I would like nothing more.”

They slipped the bands on each other’s fingers as if they were getting married once again.

Jaime glanced up and pointed. “Look.”

A vacant building stood above them, “for lease” signs plastered over the dark windows. Bart traced his fingers over the weathered brick and down the metal doorframe.

It all clicked back in place.

“Goodnight. I love you.”

Bart leaned forward and placed a peck on Jaime’s lips.

“ _Buenas noches. También te amo._ ”

Jaime returned the kiss as he wrapped his arms around the speedster. In the dark, limbs entangled in the sheets, the two men pressed their foreheads together, inhaling the other’s sweet scent.

Bart followed with another peck. “I love you more.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, _cariño_?”

“Maybe. Fight me.”

“You know I can never do that.”

“So you surrender?” Bart joked.

Their lips connected. Jaime’s hand cupped around Bart’s face.

“To you,” he replied, “forever and ever.”

With one last drop of super glue, the figurine was placed on its new home—the mantle above the hearth. It didn’t stand like it did in its former glory. When the sun shone the thin cracks were still visible, highlighted in gold threads. The imperfections tied the room together, like the focal point of a painting.

Nonetheless, the two miniature men danced on, as if to show the world, _“We’re not perfect, but we prevailed.”_

Jaime pulled a new binder with new decorations and a ream of blank sheets from a bookshelf. 

“Bart,” he stated. “What we have before us is our newest operation. It’s gonna be rough; it’s gonna be tough. No matter what, we gotta stick with each other. This time, for real. Do you accept this mission?”

Bart squeezed Jaime’s hand. “I do.”

“Let’s scrap the old plan and start from scratch,” said Jaime. “We’ll get ourselves a real storefront—something permanent, so we don’t lose sight of it. It’ll be our home base. Then we build from the ground up. And this time, we’ll do it right and we’ll do it together.”

“Sounds like a plan,” replied the speedster.

“That’s not all,” Jaime said. “Our first priority will always be to love each other forever and to never let that love go.”

“And ever,” Bart added.

Jaime pressed their foreheads together and placed his free hand on Bart’s waist.

“ _Sí_. Forever and ever and ever.”


End file.
